


When We Touched

by gamewriter47



Series: Two Heads, One Heartbeat [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Best Friends, Clexa - Relationship - Freeform, Conflicted Clarke, Excessive Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, POV Alternating, POV Second Person, Smut, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-06 05:30:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5404814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamewriter47/pseuds/gamewriter47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They only kiss when they're drunk.</p>
<p>Or</p>
<p>The straight girl/lesbian best friend story with a happy ending (because Clarke is bi, duh).</p>
<p>Two-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lexa

**Author's Note:**

> Where Lexa is broody and hates her feelings.

**Year One**

 

The people here are different.

 

That’s the first thing you notice. When the door to your dorm closes behind your mom and aunt, the second thing you notice is how unlike them you are.

 

You sit on your bed and browse aimlessly on your laptop, searching for some sort of familiarity because everything has been so new and different today, and if you think again about how you don’t know a single person here the heavy feeling of loneliness in your stomach might just overflow.

 

Your roommate (you’ve already forgotten her name) is saying goodbye to her parents and you look up with a polite smile when her mom wishes you both good luck.

 

The door slams shut again and the silence of being in such a small space with a stranger makes your heart pound, but she (you really do need to find out her name) seems oblivious as she bounces around her side of the room.

 

“You’re coming to the party tonight right? The one for the freshman?”

 

She’s speaking to you, and it takes a minute for the question to register. You bite your lip, and she immediately sees your hesitation.

 

“Come on, you have to! It’ll be our first _thing_ as roommates. You can’t skip out on the first event of college!”

 

You want to say no, but you suppose she has a point. College was far away from the misery of high school; nobody knew who you were here. A fresh start did sound nice.

 

“Sure. You’re right.”

 

Two hours later you’re walking to one of the auditoriums next to your roommate (Emma, you heard her say) and the girl who lives in the room across the hall from you. Emma had let you borrow a dress and it felt awkward and not at all like you but you went along with it, reminding yourself that you were actually going to _try_ this year.

 

The three of you walk into the party and your stomach clenches nervously at the amount of people there. You follow Emma to a table and sit down, not knowing what to do with your hands. A loud, bass heavy song comes on and Emma and the other girl scream in excitement. They leave to go dance but you stay where you are. No matter how different you were going to try to be, you still wanted to preserve your dignity.

 

Before that heavy feeling can fill up too high, a girl sits down next to you and smiles when you look up.

 

“Hey! I’m Clarke.”

 

*

 

It takes only a week until you and Clarke are eating dinner every night together in the dining hall. You often go over to her room after classes to watch movies or play cards (because her roommate is always out and you never quite managed to get past the polite acquaintance phase with yours).

 

You are surprised how little time it takes for you to warm up to her, but less surprised when you find that you can be yourself around her more than you have with anyone else. She’s completely different from you, light and happy and charismatic, and it’s a refreshing change from being, well, you all day.

 

As you enter the cafeteria you pull out your headphones and glance around the various food lines, searching until you see her familiar blonde head and then walk over, warmth filling your stomach once she sees you approach.

 

“Hey,” she grins, “How’s it going?”

 

You smile back, then give a noncommittal shrug. “Alright. I’m already getting sick of my classes.”

 

“Yeah. I hate general eds. What did you have today?”

 

You answer and she watches you expressively. It’s one of the things you like about Clarke, that she always seems to take a genuine interest in you and what you have to say.

 

After dinner you both head to your room because there’s a movie you want to show Clarke, and you are relieved that your roommate seems to be out when you arrive.

 

“I always forget how clean your room is,” she says, hopping onto your bed.

 

“It’s not that clean. You are just messy.”

 

“I’m not messy,” she insists, and gives you a light shove as you sit down next to her. “I’m just…uniquely organized.”

 

You raise your eyebrows and give her a look. She laughs and you don’t know why it makes your heart beat a little faster but before you can think too much about it she leans against you and rests her head on your shoulder and you definitely can’t ignore how fast _that_ makes your heart start beating.

 

But she is waiting for you to start the movie and so you do.

 

*

 

At the end of the year you get drunk with her for the first time. It’s the day after finals and also your birthday, so Clarke invites you over and surprises you with a bottle of cheap vodka. You don’t drink much and neither does she, so it only takes a few shots before you both are giggling and swaying where you sit on the floor.

 

“Want to play a drinking game?”

 

You laugh at how excited she is and nod yes. She leans forward to refill your glass and you catch yourself staring a second too late but she doesn’t seem to notice.

 

“You’ve played Never Have I Ever before, right?”

 

You groan. “Unfortunately.”

 

“ _Come onnnn_ ,” she pleads, “It’ll be fun!”

 

“ _Fiiiine_ ,” you imitate, and hold up ten fingers. “I get to go first then.”

 

She does a half-hearted victory dance and holds up her own fingers. “Bring it.”

 

“Never have I ever…um…gotten a fake ID?”

 

She scoffs and wiggles her fingers, but doesn’t put any down. “I think you underestimate my cool factor Lexa. I wouldn’t even know how to get one. Also, that was boring.”

 

“So what happens now?

 

“Uhh…we both drink?”

 

You give her a skeptical look, but follow her lead anyways and drain your shot. “Did you just make that rule up?”

 

“I don’t remember.”

 

“Oh my god. Just go.”

 

Ok, hmm…never have I ever had sex!”

 

“Really?” you ask, surprised.

 

“Ah, ah. No questions, you’re supposed to drink first.” You oblige, wincing only slightly as the alcohol burns down your throat. “And yes, really. Why? Does that surprise you?”

 

You feel like this topic should make you nervous, but your cheeks are pleasantly warm and the filter between your brain and mouth has deteriorated significantly.

 

“No, it’s just that you are, well, you know…not unattractive.”

 

“I think that’s the least flattering way someone has ever told me I’m pretty.”

 

She grins and you blush. “You know what I mean.”

 

“So, tell me.”

 

“What?”

 

“The sex! Who was it with? When? How many times? How many _people_? Why did I not know this before?”

 

“Okay, calm down,” you laugh. “I dunno. You never asked. It was my last year of high school. Two different, uh, girls.”

 

You realize as the words leave your mouth that this is the first time you’ve discussed your sexuality with Clarke. You are nervous for a moment, but Clarke only shows a brief second of surprise before she is smiling again, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

 

“Look at you, dropping bombs left and right! Gotta step up my game tonight,” she teases. But then she reaches over and gives your hand a quick squeeze and you suddenly feel happier than you did all night. “Alright, your turn again.”

 

You think as she pours out more vodka, and this time you let yourself notice the way she bites her lip, the slight flush that appears on her cheeks as she gets closer to you.

 

“Never have I ever…” And because that barely defined urge you are usually able to push to the back of your mind seems so much more insistent, the one where you want to know what it would be like to kiss her, you decide to see where it takes you. “…had, like, a _really_ good kiss.”

 

You wince a little internally, because although the vodka has given you liquid courage, it has also taken your usually impressive vocabulary down a few notches.

 

Clarke looks confused. “So you’ve had sex…but not a good kiss?”

 

“They are very different things. And you have yet to put a finger down.”

 

“Because I’m not entirely sure I’ve had one. What exactly constitutes a good kiss?”

 

“Um, I don’t know. I guess it mostly depends on your relationship to the person you are kissing. What have your other kisses been like?”

 

“The occasional random guy at a party. I dated this guy, Wells, for two months but it was nothing special.”

 

You nod, your mind suddenly racing as you debate what to say. She is staring at you and when you shift your legs there’s a definite dampness you can’t ignore. “So…I guess that means we both drink then?”

 

You barely finish swallowing before Clarke is refilling the glasses again. She shifts closer when she’s done and there’s a look in her eyes that you haven’t seen before.

 

“My turn,” she says, and you swear that her voice sounds raspier than it had a few seconds ago. “Never have I ever kissed a girl.”

 

And there it is. A part of you knew it was coming, but that doesn’t change the way it makes your heart pound against your chest. You’re able to not break eye contact as you put another one of your fingers down, and even manage a smirk before you throw back your shot.

 

“Have you ever wanted to?” you ask, trying to sound casual but not able to help the way your eyes flick to her lips. You catch yourself a moment later and when you look back up she is nodding and you lean forward.

 

You put a hand on the back of her neck and press your fingers lightly against her skin, letting her make the final decision to close the distance. She does and you respond with barely restrained eagerness, forcing yourself to keep the kiss chaste in case she decides she doesn’t like it. But now she’s opening her mouth and you let yourself follow her lead, exhaling hard through your nose when she sucks your bottom lip into her mouth. You feel one of her hands touch your leg and she slides her palm up your thigh at the same time her teeth scrape back across your lip; then she pulls away but only slightly, and you are both thankful and extremely disappointed that you decided to wear jeans tonight.

 

You open your eyes slowly, your brain still in a fog, to see the same hooded expression on Clarke’s face.

 

“Your lips are so soft,” she breathes, and you are immediately aware that there are still only inches between the two of you, and Clarke is making no effort to change that.

 

“Thanks. You—uh—you’re—“ You pause, stopping yourself from gushing about how perfect and beautiful you think she is because, for better or worse, her kiss managed to break through some of the haze the vodka had given you. “So, was that…okay?”

 

Her fingers squeeze your thigh and you flinch in surprise, for a moment forgetting that she was still touching you.

 

She smiles, and looks down at your lips again. “It was—“

 

“Freshman year is OVERRRRRR!!!!”

 

You jump away from Clarke, whipping your head around to see Clarke’s roommate stumbling through the door, completely oblivious to the moment she just ruined.

 

“Octavia, what—“

 

“Shit, sorry!” her roommate yells, finally noticing your presence. “Did I interrupt something? I can totally leave. I just needed to get a jacket.”

 

You look at Clarke, hoping she’ll say yes because _god_ did you want to keep kissing her, and _hell yes_ did you want to do more, but she isn’t looking at you and is instead shaking her head, pulling her knees to her chest like she is trying to increase the distance between the two of you.

 

“No, of course not. It’s Lexa. We were just hanging out.”

 

And you know you should have expected it, but her words still hurt all the same.

 

 

**Year Two**

 

Summer comes and you go back home, to the opposite side of the country from Clarke. You text every now and then, although neither of you mention your last night together. She seems distant and short, but you tell yourself you are just reading too much into it and try to distract yourself with thoughts of anything but how nice it felt to have her lips pressed against yours. The repressed urge of wanting to kiss her is now replaced with the repressed urge of wanting to fuck her and you tell yourself that it doesn’t mean anything.

 

When school starts again you are both excited and nervous as you walk to the dining hall to meet Clarke for dinner. She asked you first and the relief you felt was so immense that it hurt to think about for too long.

 

You spot her almost immediately and her smile takes your breath away. She walks quickly towards you and when you hug her you can almost forget about the doubt and sadness you felt all summer.

 

But it doesn’t take long for you to notice that Clarke has changed.

 

She seems more guarded towards you, and now when you meet her for dinner she is always accompanied by more than a few friends. You really don’t want to be jealous, so when she asks you to go with her to a party you jump at the chance. Pretty soon one party turns into another that turns into another, and before you know it you are following Clarke to a party nearly every weekend. You should have noticed how often Clarke was getting black out drunk and the reasons that could have been behind it, but then again you were trying to ignore your feelings by drinking more than you should too, so who were you to judge?

 

And, secretly, you found yourself starting to look forward to your drunken evenings with Clarke, because it was the only time she let her guard down and wasn’t afraid to touch you, and your drunk self was more than willing to ignore the long term consequences in favor of the immediate satisfaction of getting to hold Clarke’s hand, or getting to fall asleep with your head on her chest.

 

The weekend after midterms come and you are playing beer pong against Clarke at the apartment of someone you don’t care enough to remember. She misses terribly again and when you sink your ball in one of her cups the second time in a row she pouts, looking down at her cup of beer in apprehension.

 

“Why are you so good at this Lexa?” she groans. “I’m on my fourth cup and you haven’t even drinken one yet.”

 

You walk over to her side of the table, grinning. “First of all,” you start, taking the cup out of her hand. “I’m pretty sure ‘drinken’ isn’t a word. And second of all, it is because you Clarke, have terrible form.” You drain the beer out of her cup in one gulp and move behind her, your body humming pleasantly with alcohol. “But you’re cute so I’ll give you some tips.”

 

She grins at you, and a part of you hates that you both have to be drunk to do this.

 

“So, you have to aim with your elbow,” you say, and pull her hips back against yours. She leans into you, and you try not to think about how good her body feels pressed against yours. “Okay, bend your knees.” And she does, pushing her ass against your stomach as she moves. You suck in a breath and Clarke turns just enough so you can see the knowing smirk on her face.

 

“You alright back there?”

 

“I hate you sometimes,” you grit and she tilts her head back, eyebrows raised.

 

“Right, so I bend my knees…”

 

“Yeah. And then it’s all in the wrist. Just, you know, flick.”

 

She does and still misses fantastically. You laugh and she pulls away, shoving at you in mock irritation.

 

“I think you need a new teaching method.”

 

“Hmm. Or maybe just a better student.”

 

She backs you playfully against the wall, stopping her forward movement only when her face is inches from your own. That sudden sober feeling overtakes you like it always does when Clarke is this close. You lick your lips, then swallow nervously as her gaze drops to your mouth.

 

“Wanna go make out in the bedroom?”

 

Her smile is lazy and her eyes are unfocused, but her arms are around your neck and her forehead is lightly brushing against yours. You breathe out a groan and wrap your arms around her waist; these are the moments you live for, and you know that it’s not healthy, that she is using you without even trying to be subtle, but you want her so bad that your heart is beginning to thump painfully in your chest and you nod because, yes.

 

Yes, you want to make out with her, and yes, you want more. You want her body underneath yours and you want to know what her skin tastes like. You want to know what _she_ tastes like and how she’d feel around your fingers and if her breasts were as soft and as round as they looked and you wanted your mouth on her, your tongue in her, and—

 

“Clarke, let’s go! Party’s moving!”

 

She turns away from you for a second and when she looks back she’s smiling like nothing happened and grabbing your hand, pulling you with her to the next house.

 

And because that now almost recognizable urge has yet to be sated, you do.

 

*

 

It’s the Sunday after a particularly rowdy Saturday night and you are at the movie theater, waiting in line with Clarke for popcorn. You are quieter than usual, staring absentmindedly at the posters lining the walls, the events of last night still playing on repeat in your mind. Clarke is texting someone on her phone so she doesn’t notice, but you can’t seem to shake the way it felt to fall asleep with your head tucked under her chin, her hand rubbing lazy circles across your back and occasionally moving lower to graze lightly against the sliver of exposed skin above the waistband of your jeans. You didn’t say anything because you didn’t want her to stop and neither did she but you weren’t quite as sure what that meant.

 

As you walk to the theater Clarke suddenly stops and because you have your eyes fixed to the floor it takes you a minute to notice. When you do you turn to see her standing several feet away, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

 

“What’s going on?” she asks. She walks forward, and you have to repress the urge to take several steps back.

 

“Nothing,” you shrug. “Why?”

 

“You’ve barely said two words since we left.”

 

“I don’t know. I just don’t feel like saying much.”

 

You can tell she doesn’t believe you but she’s worried all the same. She flashes you a smile and grabs your hand, tugging lightly.

 

“Come on, Lexa. You know you can tell me.”

 

You sigh and try to nonchalantly pull your fingers out of her grasp under the guise of scratching a spot on the back of your head, but you see the hurt flash across her face and know you failed miserably.

 

“It’s nothing Clarke, really. I feel a little off today, that’s all.”

 

“Is it because of what I told you about Finn?”

 

Your heart clenches tight in your chest and you have to suppress the sudden urge to yell at her because was it actually possible for someone to be this oblivious?

 

“Why would I have a problem with Finn?” you ask tightly and when you finally look up at her it’s just in time to see her suck in a short breath.

 

“I don’t…I don’t know,” she mumbles, and then, “Just thought I’d ask.”

 

She’s avoiding your eyes now and it’s painfully obvious that you both are lying because Finn had asked her to be his girlfriend and she had said yes and you think right now you are the farthest from okay that you have ever been.

 

 

**Year 3**

 

You drink a lot that summer. Sometimes with old friends from high school but mostly by yourself.

 

Clarke texts you more than you text her, even tries calling you once in awhile, but you never answer. Partly because you can’t stand to hear about her summer with whatever the fuck his name is (it’s Finn, you know it’s Finn because he has been the subject of many violent daydreams) and partly because it’s so much easier to pretend she doesn’t exist.

 

Halfway through the summer she finally breaks you down, threatening to call your phone nonstop until you answer. You are able to endure 20 minutes of constant buzzing until you give in and accept her call.

 

You hate how quickly the walls you built against her crumble. You hate how happy you feel to hear her voice. You hate the bubble of hope that rises in your stomach when she tells you she broke up with Finn even more.

 

You know it’s stupid and probably wishful thinking, but you feel like your relationship goes back to normal now that Clarke is single again. You talk to her almost every night, and by the time school starts you are as excited as you always are to see her at the end of the day.

 

She hugs you and her embrace feels so familiar and safe. As you follow her back to her room you think maybe just this can be ok.

 

*

 

Winter break comes and goes and you are waiting outside Clarke’s apartment door with a bottle of wine in each hand. She had invited you over earlier that day, voice excited and a little breathless as she told you she had something “big” to tell you. You figured she had gotten the job she had so eagerly applied for a month earlier, so you offered to bring drinks over to celebrate.

 

She opens the door and you try not to stare for too long because she’s dressed in an oversized t-shirt you had given her and basketball shorts that barely reached the middle of her thighs. You love when she looks like this, casual and relaxed and always so, so beautiful.

 

“Had a nice break?” she asks, grabbing a bottle from one of your hands. You follow her inside and it is only a few seconds after you set the wine on the counter that she is throwing her arms around your neck, hugging you warm and tight and familiar again.

 

“I missed you.”

 

Her breath against your ear tickles and you shiver, but hold her closer. “I missed you too.”

 

When you are sitting on the couch next to her, sides brushing and face flushed from the half empty bottle of wine, you ask.

 

“So what’s this big news you wanted to tell me about?”

 

Clarke ducks her head, and if you didn’t know any better you think she might be embarrassed.

 

“Right, well…something uh, happened over break.” She takes another drink before continuing. “I think I met someone.”

 

The blood rushes to your ears so fast you almost don’t hear her next words. And then you wish you hadn’t.

 

“Her name is Raven.”

 

*

 

“A girl?”

 

She twists a strand of hair around her finger and smiles at you nervously. “Coincidence, huh?”

 

You clench your jaw but say nothing because you know that this is anything but a coincidence, and you are pretty sure that she does too. Instead you smile and give her a half-hearted congratulations, turning your focus to draining your glass and opening the next bottle of wine.

 

“Congratulations? That’s all you have to say?”

 

You can feel her eyes on you as you pull out the cork, and she shifts slightly when you pour yourself another glass. When you lean back against the couch she is still staring, and you feel a small spark of anger as you meet her gaze.

 

“Is there something you would like me to say, Clarke?”

 

She sighs. “I just want you to talk to me.” She refills her glass and you suddenly notice how tired she looks. You think maybe you are being unfair.

 

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. “Can we start over? I just want to have fun with you tonight. I really did miss you,” you add, and are rewarded with a shy smile that makes your fingers tingle.

 

She holds up her glass and you clink yours against it, neither one of you breaking eye contact as you drink.

 

*

 

“Clarke…Clarke, that’s not…oh my god.”

 

You give up trying to steady her and fall back against the couch, laughing as Clarke glares up at you from the floor.

 

“Don’t _laugh_ at me Lexa,” she pouts. “I could have died.”

 

But it only makes you laugh more, because she tried to jump over the coffee table on her way to the bathroom but the amount of wine you both had drank did nothing to improve her depth perception.

 

“I’m sorry. You’re right. It was a very close call.”

 

“You’re mocking me.”

 

“Yes. I always liked how smart you were.”

 

She chucks a pillow at you, but you don’t think to react until it’s too late and it hits you square in the face. You drop down on your back, groaning dramatically.

 

“Fuck…pillows hurt so much.”

 

You hear her giggle from the floor and then there’s a sudden weight on your hips and when you refocus your eyes she is hovering above you, the tips of her long blonde hair tickling your cheeks.

 

“Can I ask you something?” she whispers.

 

Your heart starts beating fast, and if you’d had more sense you would have said no. But this is Clarke, and you are drunk, and moments like this make you feel alive and constantly pretending that whatever this is between the two of you doesn’t exist is so painful that you just want to be selfish.

 

“Of course,” you whisper back.

 

“What’s it like? To be with…a girl?”

 

You swallow (because this is definitely too on the nose), but when have you ever been able to deny Clarke anything?

 

“I don’t know. I’ve only ever been with girls, so…it’s just normal to me.”

 

She nods, biting her lip in the way that makes you squirm. But you can’t because she is still sitting on top of you, and you are close enough to doing something reckless as it is.

 

“Right. Sorry, that was probably a dumb question. I’ve only slept with Finn and I just don’t want to seem…stupid.”

 

There’s a dull thud of pain in your chest at the thought of him touching her, but you force yourself to ignore it. “Why would you be stupid?”

 

“I don’t know. This girl, Raven—“ Your heart plummets, and you think Clarke knows (or maybe you just hope) because she quickly continues. “She’s…experienced, you know? I don’t want to be a disappointment.”

 

The irony of it all, the fact that you think you might literally implode if Clarke ever wanted to be with you outside the influence of alcohol makes you almost want to cry but you blink back your feelings and focus on your _friend_ , your best friend, (I love you, I’m in love with you. There should be a difference, right?) because she needs you.

 

“You could never be a disappointment,” you confess, and you think it might have been too much because the way she looks at you is confusing and too intense all at once.

 

“I just mean…I could…give you, um, tips if you want.”

 

It sounds fake, even to you, and you are sure she is going to see right through your efforts but to your surprise she nods, shifting slightly on top of you but not moving away.

 

“I think I’d like that.”

 

Your heart is pounding harder than you think it ever has. Both of you are still whispering, and your brain is screaming at you to stop, but you ignore both and push yourself up on your elbows so you are leaning against the armrest of the couch.

 

“Tell me what you want,” you whisper (again), and something dark flashes in her eyes.

 

“I’ve heard about what you do.” She grins, and you don’t know how you are going to survive this. “The trail of hearts you leave behind…”

 

You exhale slowly, because you know she’s right. You’ve earned yourself a reputation, and the reason for that is currently sitting on top of you.

 

“Looks like my secret is out,” you joke, because you honestly have no idea where this situation is going to take you and the possibilities are too enticing to entertain.

 

But she isn’t laughing. “I want you to show me.”

 

You swallow. “Why?”

 

She stares at you, opens her mouth to speak but then shuts it again. Her eyes flick to points all across your face, dropping to your lips over and over but she doesn’t say it. You wonder if either of you will ever have the courage to be honest.

 

Instead she sits back on your hips and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Because I trust you.”

 

You are slowly losing this battle between your brain and body but you force yourself to resist, those curves and unexplored softness becoming increasingly harder to ignore. So you try to deflect again, one last, half-hearted attempt.

 

“Just do what you like to do to yourself.” It’s hard not to choke on your words, images erupting unbidden in the forefront of your mind.

 

“Is that what you want?”

 

You think your heart might stop then. You push forward so your eyes are level with her chest. You don’t bother to look away.

 

“No. It’s not.”

 

Your body is moving on desire alone as you slip your fingers under her shirt and pull upwards. When it is over her head and on the floor you reach out to touch, hardly believing this isn’t another one of your recurring fantasies until you run your fingers up her stomach and feel her shiver against you. You look up to meet her eyes at the same moment her hips move and grind down against you, earning a moan from her and a hot surge of lust in you. Now you are moving without thinking and push your hand past the bottom edge of her bra, unable to quiet your loud exhale as the sharp jut of her nipple brushes the pad of your index finger.

 

You feel her fingers wrap around your wrist and squeeze, pushing your arm up and the palm of your hand to press against her breast. But you want to see her so you reach around and unhook her bra, watching with an overwhelming buzzing in your veins as she pulls it from her chest and tosses it haphazardly to the floor. She looks more perfect than you ever could have imagined and you surge forward, pressing an eager tongue against her nipple and sucking lightly until you are rewarded with hands fisting in your hair, Clarke’s soft body suddenly rigid against yours.

 

“Touch me Lex, please…”

 

Something snaps inside of you, the sound of Clarke saying your name like _that_ bringing you quite jarringly back to rational thought and you pull back, the soft pop of her breast leaving the warmth of your mouth echoing somewhere in the back of your mind. You feel suddenly empty, the newly found desire to leave far outweighing that which you feel for the girl still sitting, confused, on top of you.

 

“Get off.”

 

“Lexa, what—?”

 

“I mean it Clarke. Right now.”

 

She moves obediently backwards and you sit up, fixing your eyes to the floor as you stand and grab your jacket because you can see her eyes shining with tears and you refuse to let her break down your resolve again.

 

“I can’t do this with you,” you breathe. Your chest is tight and you press your fist against the wall because you can barely control the tumult of emotion that is erupting inside of you. “Not anymore. Find someone else.”

 

“I’m sorry Lexa. I shouldn’t have…” Her voice cracks and you flinch like you’ve been hit. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry.”

 

You breathe out slowly through your nose, keeping your focus on the wall. “I know Clarke. But if I don’t leave now then I never will.”

 

You reach towards the door and pull it open, pausing for a moment, wanting more than anything for her to stop you.

 

But she says nothing, and so you leave and don’t look back.

 

*

 

You don’t talk to Clarke for the rest of the school year.

 

At first she tries to text you, but you are determined not to answer. Eventually she stops, and you are relieved and disappointed all at once.

 

You dream about her all the time. Of your last night together and what you wish could have happened. You miss her more than you thought you could ever miss anyone.

 

Summer comes and you spend most of it like you did your last- drinking until you forget about her soft blonde hair, about the way her skin felt against your lips and tongue.

 

She calls you one night, and you are too far gone to realize who it is before you answer.

 

“Hello?”

 

There’s a pause, and then, “Lexa?”

 

You think your heart might drop straight through your stomach, because it has been so long since you’ve heard her voice and _god damn it_ she still sounds so sexy it makes you reach out a hand to brace yourself on the wall beside you.

 

“Clarke…”

 

You hear her exhale, and her voice is soft when she speaks. “I miss you.”

 

You sigh, and lean back against the wall. Your chest feels heavy and you hate that your self-imposed isolation has done nothing to lessen the effect she has on you.

 

“Please don’t.”

 

“Don’t what?”

 

“Try to get me to come back to you.”

 

The quiet sniffle you hear breaks your heart. You press the phone harder against your ear.

 

“Why not?”

 

You start to answer and then stop, because you realize you don’t know what to say.

 

“Lexa, would you please just talk to me?” She’s angry, and it brings you back to your senses faster than you would have liked. You can feel yourself turning soft so you switch tactics.

 

“Leave me alone Clarke. I have nothing to say to you.”

 

But she’s resilient. “Bullshit. You are being completely unfair Lexa. If you’d just—“

 

“I have _nothing to say_ Clarke,” you repeat, “What don’t you understand about that?”

 

She’s silent again, and you can just imagine her gripping the phone, jaw flexing in irritation. “Fine,” she spits, “Fuck you Lexa.”

 

The dial tone is jarring in your ear. But you tell yourself that one day it’ll be worth it, because you are tired of being in love with someone who doesn’t really want you.

 

Because this year, things are going to be different.

 

 

**Year 4**

 

School starts and you are dreading the hours leading to dinner.

 

You haven’t tried to contact her and neither has she, but you know it is only a matter of time before you see her. When you walk into the dining hall you keep your eyes on the floor.

 

You sit at a table farthest from the door and shovel down your food, anything to get out of here and to the safety of your room. And you almost make it, but when you get up to throw away your trash you see her and nearly drop your food tray.

 

She turns her head a second after you spot her and her eyes skip briefly over yours. She does a double take and then stops, swallowing but making no attempt at looking away. A burst of sound from behind her draws your attention and you recognize her friends, their presence shaking you out of the trance you seem to always fall in when she looks at you.

 

But now you remember. These are the people that she wants, not you. You feel that familiar sense of inadequacy wash over you and use it to force yourself to turn away, walking determinedly towards the doors even as you feel her gaze upon your back.

 

This year is going to be _different_ , you remind yourself. So you lower your eyes to the ground and leave, and (for the second time) you don’t look back.

 

*

 

It’s the Friday after the first week of classes and you find yourself pleasantly tipsy in the living room of someone’s house you don’t know. Music is pumping loud through the speakers around you and you take another long drink from your cup, the harsh burn of the whiskey now hardly noticeable as you scan the crowd, looking for someone to pass the night with.

 

It isn’t long before you notice a girl looking at you, biting her lip and raking her eyes down your body and you move towards her without thinking, knowing only that you need to not feel that ever present sadness that sits low in your chest. You talk about nothing for a long while until you allow yourself to shift closer to her, reveling in the feeling of being wanted by a stranger.

 

“Want to go somewhere a bit…quieter?”

 

The breathiness in her voice makes something twitch low in your stomach but you move backwards, a cocky smirk on your lips.

 

“Are you trying to take advantage of me?”

 

You grin and watch the girl smile back at you with hooded eyes, counting the seconds until her eyes drop to your mouth like clockwork.

 

She says something but you don’t really pay attention, instead tilting your head back and finishing your drink before scanning the crowd once again. When you spot a flash of blonde hair you do a double take, heart pounding erratically as you see a pair of familiar blue eyes.

 

“Lexa, are you alright?”

 

Her voice snaps you back to reality and you struggle to produce a forced smile, all thoughts and actions now focused on the blonde pushing at the edges of your vision.

 

“Yes, sorry, I just…thought I saw someone. Want another drink?”

 

She nods and gives you what you think is supposed to be a suggestive look but you are already turning away and heading out to the backyard. You hug the wall and keep your eyes to the ground, torn between excitement and apprehension at the possibility of talking to Clarke again tonight.

 

You fill up two cups with whiskey and coke, pausing to take a long drink as you prepare yourself to go back inside. When you feel like there’s enough liquid courage buzzing through your system you take a steadying breath and turn only to come to an abrupt stop, cups nearly spilling over in your surprise.

 

“Of all the parties in all the world…what are the chances?”

 

You can’t help but stare for a minute, too focused on trying to get your suddenly erratically beating heart under control. “Clarke. Hello.”

 

She leans heavily against the table, and you can tell that you haven’t been the only one indulging yourself tonight.

 

“So are you here with someone, or are those two drinks for you?”

 

Your brain is screaming at you to leave but then she smiles at you and you feel yourself grin back, and you know you are just as weak to her as ever.

 

“No, not-- uh, not really. I’m just kind of seeing where it takes me, I guess.”

 

You think you see her jaw clench but you’re distracted when she takes another drink from the beer she’s holding, the way her mouth wraps around the lip of the bottle igniting that usual warmth in the pit of your stomach.

 

“You’ve been ignoring me. For almost eight months.”

 

“I know.” You tilt your head away, distracting yourself with watching the other partygoers. “I’m sorry.”

 

She scoffs, and you chance a sideways glance at her. “Please, Lexa. At least try to sound like you feel bad.”

 

You exhale, irritated that she thinks _she_ has the right to be mad at _you_ for all this.

 

“Well I don’t know what to tell you Clarke. You always did have a knack for seeing right through me,” you deadpan.

 

She takes a half step back, and you feel momentarily guilty for the hurt that flashes across her face.

 

“That’s not fair, Lexa.”

 

“Isn’t it?”

 

“Fine,” she concedes. “You’re right. I’ve been an ass.”

 

She reaches out and lightly brushes her fingers against your knuckles, and you hate how all your anger seems to evaporate at her touch.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says, softer this time and it draws you forward. “I didn’t come over here to argue with you. I just…I miss talking to you, Lex.”

 

You are reminded of when she called you over the summer, but it’s harder this time because she’s here, in front of you, standing closer than you thought was a good idea and staring at you with watery blue eyes and now she’s biting her lip and you can’t help but look down and when she smiles you think that she noticed but—

 

“Lex, there you are!”

 

You are startled out of your reverie by an arm being thrown around your shoulders, and when you see it belongs to the girl you were talking to earlier you can’t help but be a little irritated. Because she hardly knows you and only people that know you can call you ‘Lex’ (people like Clarke).

 

“Yeah, I, um, ran into a friend. Clarke this is…” You stop, eyes widening as you realize you don’t know this girl’s name. Clarke looks at you and you can tell she’s holding back a laugh.

 

But luckily the girl doesn’t seem to notice, too focused on regaining your attention. “Come on, I want to dance with you.”

 

She slips a hand around your waist and you have to remind yourself not to flinch away from her touch. But you nod, knowing that if you don’t take the distraction now you’ll never be able to pull yourself away. “Sorry Clarke. I did promise her a dance.”

 

Clarke says nothing, only raises her eyebrows and takes another drink from her bottle before turning on her heel and walking away.

 

*

 

You spend the next two hours standing just near enough to be aware of Clarke’s presence in your peripheral, but still far enough to know that she was making a deliberate effort to ignore you. You try to enjoy the company of the other girl, especially as she is becoming much more bold in her movements, touching your hand or running her fingers up your arm what seems to be every few minutes. 

 

But you wouldn’t really know because you can’t help the way you keep glancing back at Clarke, heart twisting every time she happens to look over at the same time. And you definitely don’t realize when the other girl leans in because the next thing you know she’s kissing you and so you kiss her back, knowing that it should feel good but all you can think about is that she doesn’t taste quite right, her mouth not moving against yours the way you want it to.

 

She pulls away and you manage to smile. When she asks you to meet her in the bathroom you nod without really wanting what you are agreeing to.

 

“I’ll follow you.”

 

You bob your head and move away from the crowd, passing within feet of Clarke and actively ignoring your body’s urge to turn towards her. When you reach the bathroom you lock the door behind you. There’s a knock only seconds later and you open it with a mix of dread and anticipation, wanting more than anything to get rid of this all too familiar longing that formed the minute you saw her.

 

But luck doesn’t seem to be on your side tonight, because when you open the door Clarke is pushing inside and then suddenly she’s closing the door with her foot, lock clicking loudly behind her.

 

“Clarke, what—“

The next thing you know her body is pressing yours against the wall and her hands are on either side of your face and then you aren’t aware of anything because she is kissing you, and _this_ is what you think a kiss should feel like because she tastes just like you remembered and that, you realize, is the problem.

 

“Clarke,” you pant, and she chases your lips as you pull away. “Clarke, wait.”

 

“I shouldn’t have let you leave,” she blurts, but it’s hard to pay attention because she is still leaning heavily against you, one hand holding yours against the wall like she’s afraid you’ll run if she lets go.

 

You sigh. “You’re drunk, Clarke.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

She drops her gaze, staring at your mouth and you have to remind yourself to breathe. She kisses you again and it’s so soft that you can’t help but sigh against her mouth.  

 

“Tell me to leave,” she whispers, and this time it’s you who is chasing after her lips. “If you don’t want this, just tell me and I’ll go. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night and…seeing someone else kiss you, I just…I’m sorry it took me so long to figure out.”

 

She moves the hand that was holding yours against the wall and brushes her thumb across your cheek. The way she’s looking at you is almost too much and you can only stare, thoughts still struggling to be coherent.

 

“Say something Lex,” she says quietly, “Please. Tell me I’m not too late.”

 

The worry in her voice snaps you out of it, and you decide to answer her in the way you know best. You grab her waist and spin her around so she’s the one pressed against the wall and then you are kissing her hard and she is responding just as insistently, hands tugging at each other’s shirts and hips pushing to find friction. She moves her thigh so it’s between your legs and you grind against it without pretense, her soft, breathy moans sending waves of heat across your skin.

 

Her hips move with you as you continue to kiss, all biting lips and aggressive tongues. But soon it’s not enough (you’ve never been able to get enough) and you drag your fingers along the waistband of her jeans, circling the button and following the line of the zipper down. Before you can ask permission she’s thumbing the button open herself, shoving your hand down the front of her pants as soon as it’s open.

 

“Clarke, are you su—“

 

But your question dies in your mouth because you can feel how wet she is through her underwear and when you trail your fingers down the fabric she grips your shoulders, arching into your hand.

 

“Yes,” she pants, “Yes I’m sure, please just—“

 

You don’t need to be told twice so you push two fingers inside her, groaning at how soft she feels. You can feel her muscles clenching around you and you can still hardly believe this is happening but you start to slowly move in and out of her and her hips match your pace almost instantly.

 

“Faster,” she breathes, and you oblige, her sharp intake of breath every time you hit that one spot making you shiver. Her hands move up to tangle in your hair and you lean forward to bite gently at her neck, picking up the pace again after a few seconds. She gasps in surprise and you hear a light thump as her head falls back against the wall.

 

“Lex—mm, ah fuck—please don’t stop…”

 

You bite harder, sucking what you know will be a brilliant hickey into her neck. “Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do this?”

 

You are pumping into her so hard that her hips are hitting the wall with every thrust and you both are breathing heavily, her gasps getting steadily louder as she gets closer.

 

“I don’t think…I’m entirely convinced…”

 

You grin, being reminded in the best way that Clarke is not only a girl you’ve been lusting after for almost four years, but also the person you’ve been best friends with for more than half of it. When you start to rub your thumb in circles against her clit she lets out a strangled kind of noise, trying to hold in her moan, and you don’t think you’ve ever been so sure that you were in love with someone.

 

But then she tilts her head down at the same time you lean in and the way she kisses you when she comes makes your toes curl and suddenly you can’t hold it in, all this love you feel for her so when she breaks the kiss to breathe you say it.

 

And so does she.

 

 

 

 


	2. Clarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Clarke is confused and won't listen to her feelings.

**Year One**

 

The first time you see her it’s hard not to stare.

 

She’s gorgeous (that goes without saying) but there’s something else too. Maybe it’s that aloof vibe she’s giving off, or the way her full lips always seem to be pouting. It might be that you can tell, even from where you are standing several feet away, that she feels strange and out of place and you are sort of relieved because you thought you were the only one who felt awkward being forced to interact with all these strangers.

 

But no, that’s not right, because when have you ever taken notice of the way a girl’s mouth looks?

 

*

 

“Clarke, you’re coming right? Please tell me you are coming.”

 

You glance up from your phone, sighing as you finish sending a text.

 

“Do you really want me to?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Octavia pleads. “You have to be my wingman. And also to make sure I don’t vomit off a balcony again.”

 

“Fine,” you relent. “You owe me dinner tomorrow though.”

 

“You’re the best roommate,” Octavia grins. She turns back to the mirror to finish putting on her eyeliner at the same time your phone beeps with a new message, and gives you a suspicious look as you snatch up your phone.

 

“Who’re you texting anyways?”

 

“Lexa,” you say, grinning as you read her message.

 

“Is that the girl with the braids?”

 

“Yep.” You bite your lip, holding in a laugh as her second message comes through.

 

“She’s really pretty.”

 

This catches your attention and you look away from your phone, smiling as you think of your friend.

 

“Yeah. She really is.”

 

Octavia snorts and your eyes flick over to where she’s a standing, one eyebrow raised and a smirk on her face.

 

“What?”

 

“You totally have a crush on her.”

 

“I do not,” you say a little too quickly, trying your best to ignore Octavia as she laughs. “I can objectively think another girl is attractive without it meaning anything.”

 

“Mmmhm. Or it can mean you really want to bone her.”

 

“Jesus Octavia, I don’t want to—“

 

Your phone chimes again and you grab it on instinct, only to realize your mistake a second later. You look up, embarrassed, as Octavia grins knowingly.

 

“Yup. Right. Totally hetero.”

 

*

 

The party is raging inside but you sit by yourself on the porch steps, a little tipsy and sipping on a warm beer, enjoying the quiet as you text Lexa. A part of you wishes you had decided to spend the night with her instead, watching a movie or snuggled under a blanket—

 

“Did someone request a casual escape from a party?”

 

You look up, startled, only to grin a second later, heart doing somersaults in your chest.

 

“Lexa! What are you doing here?”

 

She holds up her phone, smiling as she looks at you. “You seemed pretty bummed out, so I wanted to come keep you company.”

 

She sits down next to you on the step, lightly bumping your shoulder. “You ok?”

 

You are filled with what feels suspiciously like butterflies but you ignore it and set your beer down, leaning over to wrap her in a tight hug.

 

“I am now.”

 

You feel her hum as she returns your embrace. “Good.”

 

“Want to get out of here?”

 

“What about your roommate?”

 

“She finally hooked up with that guy she’s been pining over. Trust me, she’s fine.”

 

“Okay. Where do you want to go?”

 

An hour later you are lying next to her on the grassy hill behind your dorm, staring up at the stars. You shiver and she turns to look at you, smiling as she shifts close enough so your arms are pressing together. You turn on your side, nuzzling your face into her soft, sweater-clad shoulder.

 

“Do you think we would’ve been friends? If we hadn’t met that first night I mean.”

 

She looks back up at the sky, forehead crinkling as she thinks.

 

“Probably not. We don’t have any of the same classes. And we don’t exactly run in the same circles.”

 

You nod. “Yeah. True.”

 

You’ve only seen Lexa interact with two other people, and it’s not hard to see the way she gets quiet and guarded whenever you are approached by your other friends. But something about this makes those butterflies in your stomach flutter again, the fact that you are one of the few that Lexa has let in.

 

“Well, I’m glad we did meet,” you say. You wrap your arm around her waist and pull her towards you, holding her in a hug that you are waiting for her to respond to. You can feel her body go rigid for a moment, but then she pulls you partly on top of her and hugs you back, warm and tight and you feel like this might be one of the best places you’ve ever been.

 

*

 

It’s her birthday, and you want this day to mean something, for the both of you.

 

It’s not subtle, you know, but when she tells you she’s slept with two girls before a hopeful warmth fills your stomach. You aren’t entirely sure you should be feeling this way, but the vodka makes it easy to overlook.

 

You lean forward to fill your glasses and bite your lip, hoping Lexa doesn’t notice the blush you can feel coloring your cheeks.

 

“Never have I ever…had, like, a _really_ good kiss.”

 

You squint at her, partly because the vodka is making it hard to focus and partly because you think you know where this might be going.

 

Instead you ask, “So you’ve had sex…but not a good kiss?”

 

“They are very different things. And you have yet to put a finger down.”

 

You consider her for a moment, noting the way her gaze drops to your mouth when you lick your lips. She asks you about your previous kisses, and you don’t miss the way she fidgets where she sits after you tell her about Wells.

 

“So…I guess that means we both drink then?”

 

You drink quickly and refill both your shot glasses again, trying to hold on to this boldness that you unexpectedly feel. When she looks at you again your skin feels suddenly warm and prickly and you let yourself lean into her space, butterflies flapping wildly in your stomach.

 

“My turn. Never have I ever kissed a girl.”

 

You watch her eyes widen and then have to swallow a groan as she holds your stare, mouth pulling up in that maddening smirk that you think she must know drives you crazy.

 

“Have you ever wanted to?” she asks, and when she looks down at your lips you know that you definitely want to.

 

You are nodding before she even looks back up and when she leans forward you think you just might implode. You feel her fingers press against the back of your neck and you push forward because you can’t wait any longer. When your lips finally press against hers you sigh, but you quickly want more so you open your mouth and suck her bottom lip in between yours. When you hear her exhale you grab her leg, moving your hand up her thigh because this feels so good but the rational part that’s still intact makes you stop yourself and you pull away slowly, too intoxicated by the way her lips felt against yours to think clearly.

 

“Your lips are so soft,” you breathe. You watch as she blinks, slowly at first but then quickly several times in a row as she pulls herself back to the present.

 

“Thanks. You—uh—you’re—so, was that…okay?“

 

You smile, letting your gaze drop down to her lips again. “It was—“

 

You want to say it was wonderful, amazing, indescribable, but then Octavia barges in, and you are suddenly reminded of your situation, the fact that Lexa is your _friend_ (maybe even your best friend) and you don’t think you could handle if she wasn’t because what if you were wrong, and what you were feeling was just temporary and you ended up hurting her? What if she never forgave you, and you had to spend the rest of your time in college avoiding her, missing her from afar and feeling so immensely guilty that you couldn’t give her what you know she deserves?

 

And you can’t do that to her. Even if it means you might never feel her lips on yours again. So you pull your knees to your chest, trying to distance yourself from this longing you suddenly feel.

 

“No, of course not,” you say. “It’s Lexa. We were just hanging out.”

 

And in that moment you wish more than anything that you weren’t pretending.

 

 

**Year Two**

 

You think about that kiss more times than you’d like to admit that summer. It scares you, the way thoughts of Lexa always seem to be circulating in the forefront of your mind.

 

She texts you every so often and it is easy to keep her at arm’s length, the distance helping you forget what it feels like to be around her. You are in desperate need of distractions so you find yourself hanging out with Wells and your old crowd again, drinking and kissing random guys you meet to try and forget about that one kiss you can’t seem to recreate.

 

When you get back to campus the familiar surroundings have you missing Lexa more than ever and you ask her to dinner before you can talk yourself out of it. You see her and you can’t believe you had forgotten how pretty she is. She hugs you and the affection you feel for her from this one, simple touch is overwhelming. It is then you realize that people who are just friends probably don’t feel this way about each other.

 

So you push back, fighting against this feeling that threatens to consume you. You drink and party and try to be detached, but soon you find yourself missing her so much that even alcohol won’t let you forget. When you ask her to come with you one night she agrees almost instantly, and the guilt you feel sits low and bitter in your stomach.

 

It is selfish (you know that) but you want both Lexa and the boldness that comes with drinking until you can act without thinking. So you take what she gives willingly, and fool yourself into believing that whatever your relationship with her has morphed into is something that you can both be happy with.

 

Lexa already lives off campus and her apartment is closer to the party you were just at so you let her lead you up the stairs, hand wrapped warm and tight around yours. You stumble a bit as you step through the doorway, still dizzy from alcohol and she laughs as she steadies you, the sound awakening those butterflies again.

 

“You doing alright back there?”

 

“Shut up,” you slur, but grin as you follow the familiar path to her bedroom. Her back is turned so you don’t bother to hide your stare as she shrugs off her leather jacket. “How are you still so sober?”

 

“We got shitfaced last night Clarke. I needed a break. I’m surprised you didn’t too.”

 

You fall heavily down onto her bed, kicking off your boots before you lay back. “I’m a professional Lexa. Lots of practice you know.”

 

You hear her sigh but when you look back up she’s gone, only to return minutes later, a glass of water in each hand. “Drink please.”

 

You oblige and she sits down next to you, the shifting of the air mattress beneath you making you giggle. “We really need to get you a real bed, Lex.”

 

She rolls her eyes and takes a drink from her own glass. You can’t help but follow the drop of water that slips down her chin before she wipes it away. “There’s always the couch you know.”

 

“Do you want me to take the couch?” you ask. You can’t hide the disappointment that colors your voice.

 

“No,” she says quietly, “I just…sometimes I wonder why _you_ don’t.”

 

Even in your less than sober state you can recognize that this conversation is heading towards dangerous territory, so you try to lighten the mood.

 

“No reason,” you shrug, and you hate a part of yourself when she shifts away from you. You try to backtrack. “I just like cuddling with you. You’re like my little space heater.”

 

You nudge her side and grin, but when she looks back at you she isn’t smiling.

 

“Glad I can be of service then, I guess.”

 

She moves and before you can register what is happening she is standing with one hand on the doorknob, eyes deliberately avoiding yours. “I think I’m going to sleep on the couch, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Lexa, wait, I didn’t mean it like—“

 

“It’s fine Clarke. I just want to go to sleep. I’ll talk to you in the morning, alright?”

 

She doesn’t wait for you to answer, and you find yourself staring at the closed door for several minutes after she leaves. You try to go to sleep but something is tugging at your chest and you are acutely aware of how sober you are, how much everything seems to hurt and how cold and lonely Lexa’s bed is without her and it is becoming unbearable so you get up and pad quietly into the hall, pausing as your eyes adjust to the darkness.

 

You hear a watery sniffle and your heart drops. You move towards where you know the couch to be, and see her silhouette freeze where she sits.

 

“Lex?”

 

She clears her throat, turning away from you to wipe at her eyes as you flick on the tableside lamp.

 

“Do you need something Clarke?”

 

“No, I just…” _I missed you_ , you want to say, but instead you reply with, “I was going to get some water and I thought I heard…”

 

You trail off because she finally looks up at you, her eyes red and puffy. You suck in a breath, because you never wanted to see her look this sad.

 

“Oh, Lexa.” You move towards her, sitting down beside her and pulling her into a hug before she can resist. She leans into you almost instantly and when she starts to cry again your heart feels like it could break.

 

“What’s wrong, Lex?” you whisper.

 

You feel her shake her head, but she pushes farther into you all the same. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

 

“You’re crying. It must be something.”

 

“Please, Clarke.” She pulls away from you, and you swear you can see her walls come back up. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

And although you know you have no right to, (because you are being as distant with your feelings as she is with hers, because it is so painfully _obvious_ why she is crying, but you are still too scared to acknowledge it) her words hurt you all the same.

 

*

 

After that night you feel something change in Lexa.

 

You are both at another party and she is drinking as hard and fast as you are, but this time she wanders away from you halfway through the night and you can’t help the way your eyes follow her. You are so focused on watching her (and wading through the whirlwind of emotions that seeing her flirting with other girls brings you) that you don’t notice Finn is talking to you until you feel a tap on your shoulder.

 

“Clarke? You alright? You look…kind of angry.”

 

You tear your eyes away from Lexa to look at him, and notice the way he is leaning into your space, grinning too broadly to be considered subtle.

 

“Not angry, just…thinking.”

 

“Well, could I interest you in something that will remedy that?”

 

He holds out a shot and you take it willingly, allowing yourself to be taken up by the distraction he brings. You’ve talked to him a few times in one of your classes and he seems nice enough so you flirt (halfheartedly, but he doesn’t seem to know) and before you know it he’s asking if he can kiss you and you still haven’t seen Lexa so you let him and try not to cringe at his stubble that scratches your lip. He pulls back with that dazed look in his eyes so you smile back at him, trying to find things to hold on to.

 

You talk and hang out with Finn for the better part of two weeks, and when he asks you to be his girlfriend you say yes because you think that’s the way it’s supposed to go. He looks so happy and when he kisses you after you ignore the mistake you know you’ve made.

 

You are feeling so conflicted and angry with yourself that you call Lexa and (because it is what you do) ask her to go to a party with you that night. You are more relieved than you care to admit when she says yes, and when she meets you outside your dorm you hug her for longer than you’ve ever let yourself before, reveling in her softness and flowery smell. If she notices you are acting strange she doesn’t say, but you think you can see the tint of a blush on her cheeks.

 

After more than a few shots of tequila you tell her about Finn. You don’t know what you are expecting but it isn’t her complete lack of response, or the way she seems to bite back a bitter laugh.

 

“Is something funny?” you ask, not bothering to hide the irritation in your voice.

 

“No. Not at all,” she says with equal contempt. “Just didn’t think you’d be one to go for _Finn_.”

 

You smile despite yourself, because a part of you knows she’s right.

 

“He’s not that bad…”

 

She rolls her eyes, turning to pour herself another shot. “And that’s what your standard is going to be? Not that bad?”

 

You say nothing, instead following her lead and throwing back a shot of your own.

 

“You’re turning into a snarky drunk, you know.”

 

“No one’s forcing you to hang out with me,” she scoffs. “Plus, me being drunk is how you like me best, isn’t it?”

 

You wince, because she really does know how to hit you where it hurts.

 

“That’s not true,” you say quietly, but even you can hear that lie.

 

“If you say so.”

 

“Can we not talk about this anymore?” you sigh. “I don’t want to think about Finn or…anything else.” You can feel emotion bubbling just underneath the surface and you take another shot, ignoring the way Lexa warily watches you. “I don’t want to think. Okay?”

 

She touches your shoulder and you try not to shiver as her fingers run down your arm, stopping at your wrist and then moving to tangle in your own. You swallow and look up at her, her smile nudging your butterflies awake.

 

“Okay then.”

 

It’s just past three in the morning when you are back at her apartment sitting almost on top of each other on the couch, her head on your chest and one of your arms resting on her stomach, the other wrapped loosely around her shoulder. She’s breathing heavily and you think she might be asleep until she shifts closer into you, her head pushing underneath your chin.

 

“You’re so warm,” she mumbles and you giggle, brushing your lips across her forehead.

 

“I love when you’re cuddly.”

 

“Mmm. Just get me all liquored up and I’m puddy in your hands.”

 

“I think your puddy even without the liquor.”

 

“Only for you,” she sighs, and the way her breath catches at the end makes your heart do funny things in your chest. You want so desperately to be closer to her in this moment so you kiss her forehead again and then once on each closed eyelid, and again on her nose.

 

You make to move lower, your nose brushing lightly against hers, but she opens her eyes and you remember what doing _that_ will mean. Because you are someone’s girlfriend now, and if you kissed her again you don’t think you’d ever be able to stop. And you’re definitely not supposed to do that.

 

“Sorry,” you whisper, but she just shakes her head and settles back against you. You shift so you are lying down and she moves effortlessly with you, curling into your side before tucking her head back under your chin. You rub circles across her back and just as you are about to fall asleep, her weight warm and comfortable on top of you, she answers.

 

“I wish you weren’t.”

 

 

**Year 3**

 

You text Lexa more than she texts you that summer. You even try calling her, because you are so desperate to hear her voice, but she never answers. Her excuses become less believable (sometimes there’s none at all) and you think you’ve lost her by doing nothing, which only makes you feel worse because that’s exactly what you were trying to prevent in the first place. You are starting to think that every decision you make is the wrong one.

 

Finn surprises you three weeks into the summer with a bouquet of flowers and an invitation to spend the weekend with him at his parent’s cabin. You tell yourself that you’re supposed to be excited to spend time alone with your boyfriend so you agree and, with one more unanswered call to Lexa, you go.

 

It is, objectively, nice. He says all the right things, does romantic gestures and makes you feel special and wanted. On the last day you drink too much champagne and you don’t entirely hate it when you sleep together. It feels good, but something seems like it’s missing.

 

You get home and when you turn on your phone for the first time in three days, a messy, drunken text from Lexa adorned with several heart emojis sitting unread in your inbox, you think you know what that something might be.

 

Finn doesn’t last much longer, and you are more relieved than sad when he finally breaks up with you.

 

It is halfway through the summer and you are alone in your room, two-thirds of the way through a bottle of wine. You call Lexa over and over again, and just when you are about to give up she answers. Her voice makes your heart race and you talk for hours, and nearly every night after that. For the first time in a long while you feel happy and light.

 

The first months of school are some of the best you can remember. You get an apartment on the second floor of Lexa’s complex, but most nights one of you ends up sleeping over at the others. It is simple, comfortable and safe.

 

So of course you’d have to mess it up.

 

Her name is Raven. You meet her at a party during winter break, and you notice her at once. She is forward in her intentions with you and a part of you likes that, someone making the decisions for you, someone who knows what they want, and it is easy to go along for the ride. She kisses you and it’s familiar but not quite the same, and you think that might be a good thing.

 

“Her name is Raven.”

 

The look on her face makes you feel like maybe you’ve made a mistake, telling her this.

 

“A girl?”

 

You know by now that she is trying hard to keep her expression carefully (frustratingly) blank, so you try to make a joke, wanting to go back to the comfortable companionship you felt earlier in the night.

 

“Coincidence, huh?”

 

“…Congratulations.”

 

She doesn’t look at you as she says it, instead turning to open another bottle of wine with more force than you think is necessary. It makes you a little angry, because you’ve been single for months and she did nothing and neither did you, and you thought it was because you both knew that maybe your timing never was quite right, that maybe it was better to be just friends because then you could always be there for each other when other people let you down.

 

But saying what you feel was never something you and Lexa did very well.

 

“Congratulations? That’s all you have to say?”

 

She takes her time pouring herself another glass before she leans back, still infuriatingly calm, against the couch. When she finally meets your gaze you can tell that she’s a little angry too.

 

“Is there something you would like me to say, Clarke?”

 

“I just want you to talk to me,” you sigh, and not for the first time you feel your thoughts contradict almost immediately again. You wonder if you’d even be able to survive if you let yourself be with her, because fighting whatever this is can be so tiring sometimes.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and the softness of her voice makes you shift a little where you sit. “Can we start over? I just want to have fun with you tonight. I really did miss you.”

 

You smile at her, covering up your sudden nervousness by holding your glass up to hers. You drink and talk about nothing. You let your fingers brush her arm, her leg, in touches that you are not yet bold enough to make more than innocent.

 

When you feel pleasantly lightheaded with wine you walk not-so-gracefully over to your computer to turn on some music, and when the familiar notes begin to play you look over at her to see a small smile on her face. ([xx](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TYYdQ_Z-c6s))

 

“You like this song?”

 

“I’ve heard it a few times in your car,” you shrug. “I listened to it a lot over the summer…” (when you were gone, you want to say), “It reminds me of you.”

 

She pushes off the couch and stands in front of you, taking your wineglass to set it on the coffee table before putting her arms around your waist.

 

“What are you doing?” you giggle, heart jumping nervously as she puts your arms around her neck.

 

“Slow dancing with you,” she answers. When her chest presses against yours you bite your lip, ducking your head to hide the blush you feel on your cheeks.

 

“How romantic of you.”

 

“I know,” she says, and begins to sway you both to the slow beat. “How else do you think I get all the ladies?”

 

You laugh and then make the mistake of looking up at her. Her face is much closer than you had anticipated and you have the urge to step back but she’s still holding your waist against hers, and suddenly this thrill you feel swooping up your chest doesn’t seem so bad.

 

“I did always wonder,” you say, and it comes out breathier than you had intended. She’s staring at you now, and you want to be brave and you want to be reckless but it’s hard to hold her gaze because it’s so intense so you blink and look away, ashamed but also a little relieved when you feel her grip on you loosen.

 

You mumble something about having to go to the bathroom and tear yourself out of her embrace, but you underestimate how much she was holding you up and stumble.

 

“Clarke—Clarke, that’s not—“

 

Your shin hits the coffee table and you try to overcompensate by jumping. But you are dizzy (whether from the alcohol or Lexa you aren’t quite sure) and you end up tripping, falling flat on your face on the carpet.

 

“Oh my god,” she laughs, dropping down onto the couch. You look up, blushing furiously.

 

“Don’t _laugh_ at me Lexa. I could have died.”

 

But she only laughs more, and the sound is so pretty that you grin back at her.

 

“I’m sorry. You’re right. It was a very close call.”

 

“You’re mocking me.”

 

“Yes. I always liked how smart you were.”

 

You throw a pillow at her and hear her say something but you aren’t listening because something inside of you clicks and you feel giddy and unusually warm. Before you realize what you are doing you launch yourself on top of her, pinning her hips underneath yours.

 

And it’s in that moment, when you are staring down at her and you watch her swallow, when you can hear her breaths start to come faster and see her cheeks begin to flush, that you decide to act.

 

“Can I ask you something?” you whisper, partly because you’re scared but mostly because you feel like you are about to do something you shouldn’t.

 

“Of course,” she whispers back, eyes widening, and you are struck suddenly by how pretty she is.

 

“What’s it like?” you ask, and it takes an effort to keep your voice even. “To be with…a girl?”

 

She swallows again, hard, and you are nervous and uncomfortably warm, but there’s no going back now.

 

“I don’t know. I’ve only ever been with girls, so…it’s just normal to me.”

 

You nod and bite your lip, embarrassment sending another wave of heat across your skin. You suck in a breath, trying to stay focused.

 

“Right. Sorry, that was probably a dumb question. I’ve only slept with Finn and I just don’t want to seem…stupid.”

 

“Why would you be stupid?”

 

“I don’t know.” You can feel yourself rambling. “This girl, Raven—“ No, stupid, stop. Don’t mention her. “She’s…experienced, you know? I don’t want to be a disappointment.”

 

She’s quiet for a moment and you think you might have screwed up, but then—

 

“You could never be a disappointment.”

 

She’s looking at you in a way that is overwhelming and intimate and you are so close to just leaning down and taking what you want but you think she realizes what she did because she clears her throat, backtracking.

 

“I just mean…I could…give you, um, tips if you want.”

 

She looks flustered and it’s so endearing that you almost forget to answer. You shift slightly, the feel of her body underneath yours sending jolts up your chest.

 

“I think I’d like that,” you manage to breathe out. She pushes herself up to lean against the armrest and your stomach does a strange sort of flip.

 

“Tell me what you want,” she whispers, and you feel like her words shoot straight to your core. Your heart is beating fast, and you feel suddenly bold.

 

“I’ve heard about what you do,” you grin. “The trail of hearts you leave behind…”

 

“Looks like my secret is out,” she teases. But you’re ready now, and you don’t want to wait.

 

“I want you to show me.”

 

She pauses, and you can see her processing your words.

 

“Why?”

 

You look at her, but you realize you don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you’re _supposed_ to say, or what she expects you to say, or even what you’re ready to say. But you do know that it’s been almost three years since you’ve felt her lips against yours and you’ve been wanting to do it again ever since.

 

Instead you say, “Because I trust you.”

 

You think she might know that you aren’t telling the entire truth because she tries to backtrack again.

 

“Just do what you like to do to yourself.”

 

You can’t ignore the sweep of disappointment that you feel but you take a breath, wanting to give her the chance to back out. Because maybe you were wrong. And maybe it’s for the best.

 

“Is that what you want?”

 

The words are barely out of your mouth before she is moving forward, eyes openly fixed on your chest. Your body is burning now because you are so ready for this, so ready for her.

 

“No,” she murmurs. “It’s not.”

 

Before you can really process anything you feel her fingers push underneath your shirt and your mind goes blank. She grabs the material, dragging it up your body and over your head and you lift your arms, watching it fall to the floor out of the corner of your eye. She doesn’t hesitate now and runs her fingers up your stomach. You shiver, her sudden boldness and her hands so close to where you want them making you dizzy and you grind your hips down, needing more. She looks up at you at the same time you fail to hold back a moan and then her finger sweeps across your nipple and your body jerks forward, arousal coiling tighter in your stomach.

 

You are impatient so you grab her wrist and push her hand up so she’s palming your breast. She flexes her fingers and you exhale a shaky breath only to suck it immediately back in when you feel her unhook your bra. You tear it eagerly from your chest and watch with a hunger you’ve never experienced as she looks at you, mouth parted slightly, before she swallows, licks her lips, and lunges forward.

 

The first touch of her tongue makes you gasp and when she sucks at your nipple your body stiffens and you press your chest further into her mouth, hands coming up to tangle in her hair. You can feel her hum against you and you tilt your head back as she swirls her tongue, and you just want her to—

 

“Touch me Lex, please…”

 

She freezes suddenly and then she’s pulling back and you open your eyes, dazed and still painfully turned on when—

 

“Get off.”

 

You blink, still not understanding.

 

“Lexa, what—?“

 

“I mean it Clarke. Right now.”

 

You move back because she’s already making to sit up and cross your arms over your chest because everything feels so very suddenly wrong. You stare, dumbfounded as she grabs her jacket, eyes burning with embarrassed tears as she walks to the door.

 

“I can’t do this with you,” she says. “Not anymore.” She presses her fist against the wall and you are starting to panic. “Find someone else.”

 

“I’m sorry Lexa. I shouldn’t have—“ Your voice cracks and you shake your head. No. No. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry.” You’re pleading now but she’s still not looking at you and you wipe frustratingly at your face. You want desperately to go back, to take it all back.

 

“Lex—“

 

“I know Clarke. But if I don’t leave now then I never will.”

 

She opens the door and your stomach drops. You want to say something, anything, but your heart is stuck in your throat and before you can pull yourself together enough to speak, she is gone.

 

*

 

You don’t talk to Lexa for the rest of the school year.

 

You text her, at first, but she never answers and you are starting to feel pathetic. You spend a lot of time at Octavia’s, because knowing that she is just two floors below you is enough to make you want to never spend the night in your apartment again.

 

You cry a lot, mostly in bed with headphones in your ears, but sometimes in the car or, on one particular hard day, in the dining hall after you accidentally caught her eye while waiting in the food line. She looked away almost immediately (completely changing the direction she was walking in) and went to talk to some people you barely recognized, while you spent the rest of dinner pretending not to notice where she was sitting.

 

Octavia convinces you to call her one night over the summer. Before you had still been too embarrassed from what happened the last time you saw her (truthfully you still are), but you miss her so much that you do it anyways.

 

It goes terribly.

 

She’s cold and detached and you end up hanging up on her, throwing your phone angrily against the wall.

 

For the first time, you think you might really never be friends with Lexa again.

 

**Year 4**

 

School starts and it doesn’t feel like it used to.

 

You move in with Octavia, and you are grateful for having a friend, someone you can trust, someone who can be there for you when you need to just not be alone. She listens when you talk, even though you mostly say the same thing: you’re hurt, you’re sad, you don’t understand what happened. She stays up late with you and laughs at stupid movies, drinks with you and takes care of you when you inevitably push yourself too far, holds your hand and rubs your back when you cry (less than before, but still too much for your liking).

 

But she isn’t Lexa.

 

She finds you one afternoon on the couch, curled up in blankets and your hood covering your head. Angry music blares from your headphones so you don’t notice her until she’s standing in front of you, waving her hands to get your attention.

 

“Dude, what are you doing? It’s three in the afternoon, don’t you have class?”

 

You shrug, tossing your headphones on the coffee table in front of you.

 

“Didn’t feel like going.”

 

“It’s only the second day of classes!”

 

You shrug again, feeling grumpy. “Gonna be a great semester.”

 

Octavia throws her bag to the floor and perches herself on the coffee table. “Ok, what’s going on? You saw her didn’t you?”

 

You clench your jaw, anger and the usual defensiveness that makes your limbs lock up flooding through you like it does every time someone mentions her.

 

“It’s like she doesn’t even care Octavia. She saw me, I know she did, and then she just looked away, like we were never…anything.”

 

“Well, what did you expect Clarke?” she sighs, and you can’t blame her because you know you’ve had variations of this same conversation dozens of times over. “The last time you talked to her you _did_ tell her to fuck off.”

 

“I know,” you snap, “But that’s only because she was being such an ass. I just, I don’t know, would like some recognition that I at least _existed_ to her.”

 

“You know she’s probably as sad and hurt about this whole situation as you are.”

 

You scoff. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

 

Octavia rolls her eyes, moving to sit next to you on the couch. “Since when have you ever known Lexa to seem like she’s feeling anything?”

 

You stiffen at the sound of her name, hating the way your heart does a stuttered sort of thump. Octavia groans beside you.

 

“Oh my god Clarke, she’s not Voldemort. You can say her name without her hearing you.”

 

“I know,” you mutter. “It’s just…”

 

“You’re in love with her.”

 

You turn your head, immediately starting to protest. “I am not—“

 

But she raises her eyebrows and the words die in your throat. Because, truthfully, you had come to that conclusion long ago. Because you had never been this heartbroken for this long, had never had someone who made you feel everything so intensely- anger, happiness, jealousy. Longing. Not until Lexa.

 

So instead of denying it you just sigh, leaning your head heavily against Octavia’s shoulder.

 

“I know I am.”

 

*

 

You walk reluctantly behind Octavia as she makes her way towards the front door, music thumping loudly from inside the house.

 

“Could you at least _try_ to not look so miserable Clarke?”

 

“I told you I didn’t want to come,” you argue. “You could have just left me at home.”

 

“Which is precisely why I made you come. You’ve been a hermit since school started. You need to get out; have some fun!”

 

“I don’t want to have fun,” you grumble, but she’s already pushing open the door and pulling you along behind her. It’s crowded and people are rowdy and shouting happily and you scowl at every one you pass.

 

Octavia pushes a drink into your hand and holds up her cup to cheer you. You glare.

 

“Come on Clarke,” she pleads. “I want to see you happy again. You deserve a night to just let go. I haven’t seen party girl Griffin in _so long_ , it’s kind of killing me.”

 

You grin despite yourself but tap your plastic cup against hers and take a drink, figuring if you were being forced to be social you might as well be drunk.

 

You are halfway to tipsy when you see her and you freeze in place, empty cup falling forgotten to the floor.

 

She’s talking to a girl, laughing and leaning into her space and you feel queasy. When her lips curve up into a smirk ( _that_ smirk, the one that you wanted to be just for you) you can’t take it and you spin around, stalking into the backyard to find Octavia. You find her almost immediately and grab the drink from her hand, finishing it in two big gulps.

 

“Whoa Clarke, what the hell?” she laughs. But you shake your head, reaching down into the ice chest to grab another beer.

 

“You’re right, O. Time for the party girl to make her comeback.”

 

You are halfway through chugging your new drink before Octavia tugs on your arm, pulling you away from the group she had been talking to.

 

“Ok, ok, slow down there. As much as I’m for seeing the wild, happy drunk you, this seems a little too—“

 

“She’s here!” you blurt out, cutting off her last words. “Did you know? I swear to god Octavia, if you knew—“

 

“I don’t keep tabs on her Clarke, of course I didn’t know!”

 

But you continue to glare at her, not believing the coincidence. Finally, she breaks.

 

“Ok, fine, maybe someone did tell me there was a good chance she would come, but—“

 

“Jesus, Octavia! What the fuck!”

 

“Just listen,” she says, holding up her hands. “I wanted to give you the chance to talk to her, that’s it, I swear. I’m sorry, ok? You don’t have to. We can leave right now.”

 

You raise your eyebrows, waiting, until she finally bites her lip, looking sheepish.

 

“But…that being said, I really think you should talk to her.”

 

You groan, slumping against the table beside you. “Well, that’s a great thought Octavia but unfortunately she’s too busy hitting on some girl so if you don’t mind I’d really like to get the fuck out of here.”

 

Her face falls and you feel a glimmer of regret for yelling at her, but it is stamped out just as quickly by your anger and growing drunkness.

 

“Alright, I’m sorry. We can…” she trails off, something catching her eye behind you and you narrow your eyes as a smile grows on her face.

 

“Well, she isn’t hitting on some girl _now._ ”

 

You frown. “What—“

 

She turns you around and you see her at the drink table across the yard. Octavia is squeezing your arm, bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement but all you can do is stare, nervousness making your body go rigid.

 

“This is your chance Clarke. Go say something to her!”

 

“I—uhm—I don’t know,” you say, shaking your head. “What if she’s still mad?“

 

“She might be,” Octavia concedes, “But you’ll regret it forever if you don’t. You know you will.”

 

She’s right. You know she’s right. Because you’ve been entertaining the thought of going up to her ever since you first saw her talking to that girl (who, in your unbiased opinion, seemed way too eager). So you nod, take another long drink from your beer, and with your head held high, you walk towards her.

 

Those few feet feel like miles but the alcohol has turned your sadness into a sort of bitter indignation, and you feel braver than you have in a long while. When you finally stand next to her you are surprisingly calm, despite the fact that her perfume smells exactly, achingly, like you remembered.

 

“Of all the parties in all the world…what are the chances?”

 

You cringe a little at your line but a second later it’s hard to think about anything because she’s staring at you, looking you right in the eye and it’s been so long and then—

 

“Clarke. Hello.”

 

You lean clumsily against the table, the entirety of her attention overwhelming you after so many months of pining for it. But no. You would not be puddy. You take another drink from your beer, remembering your indignation from earlier and try to keep your shit together.

 

“So are you here with someone, or are those two drinks for you?”

 

You’re trying not to sound bitter so you manage a smile, and when she grins back at you, you nearly lose it.

 

“No, not—uh, not really,” she stutters, and a part of you revels in the fact that she’s nervous. “I’m just kind of seeing where it takes me, I guess.”

 

Your mind flashes back to the way she was flirting with that girl and your jaw clenches. You take another drink from your beer, seeking the boldness it gives you.

 

“You’ve been ignoring me,” you say coolly. “For almost eight months.”

 

She doesn’t answer for a moment, arms stiffening at her sides. “I know.” She turns her head and you feel angry again, not knowing what else could possibly catch her attention at this moment. “I’m sorry.”

 

But you barely hear her, hurt and resentment filling up your ears. “Please, Lexa. At least try to sound like you feel bad.”

 

“Well I don’t know what to tell you Clarke,” she snaps, still not looking. “You always did have a knack for seeing right through me.”

 

This makes you take a step back, the anger in her voice taking you by surprise because _she’s_ the one who has been ignoring _your_ calls, she’s the one who has been acting like you don’t exist, she’s the one who can’t look at you, even now when you are only feet apart, but you, _you’re_ the one who’s supposed to take the blame?

 

“That’s not fair, Lexa.”

 

She looks at you, finally looks at you, and she looks hurt and tired and you think that maybe Octavia was right, that Lexa was as upset (you wouldn’t dare to think heartbroken, not yet) by this situation as you were.

 

“Isn’t it?”

 

“Fine,” you relent, because you don’t want to fight but mostly because you hate the way she’s looking at you. “You’re right. I’ve been an ass.”

 

She’s silent at your quick surrender so you brush your fingers over her knuckles before you can think too much about it. Her skin is soft and warm and those butterflies seem to shake off the dust and flap (feebly) again.

 

“I’m sorry,” you continue, “I didn’t come over her to argue with you. I just…” you take a breath, steeling yourself for rejection, “I miss talking to you, Lex.”

 

She’s still not saying anything so you bite your lip, feeling embarrassment rushing to your cheeks. But then you notice she’s looking at your mouth and your pulse starts racing and you are just about to let yourself grin when—

 

“Lex, there you are!”

 

The girl from earlier appears with the worst timing ever and when she touches Lexa you think you might break your teeth with how tightly your jaw clenches.

 

It’s hours later and you are moving on autopilot now, hyper aware of Lexa but unsure of what you want to do about it. Octavia hasn’t left your side since she saw Lexa walk away from you, that girl’s arm wrapped much too confidently around her waist.

 

That poor girl. She could be lovely, but you hate her more with each passing second.

 

Your fingers grip the neck of your beer bottle tightly as you watch her slide her hand up Lexa’s arm for what seems to be the millionth time, and you are only shaken out of your glare when Octavia pokes your side, eyes wide from the several drinks you know she’s had.

 

“You sure you don’t want to leave Clarke? You look like you’re about to murder someone.”

 

“I’m fi--” you start to say but choke on the end of your sentence when you look back to see Lexa is staring at you too, eyes looking darker than ever in the dim, crowded room and you feel yourself instinctively taking a step towards her.

 

That is until you see that girl putting her fingers under Lexa’s chin, pulling her attention away from you and there is a sudden, angry buzzing in your ears. Because you desperately want to be the one touching her, the one whispering in her ear, the one making her smile. _You_ want to be the one, not this girl who you are sure Lexa barely knows.

 

“Who is she?” you ask no one in particular. But Octavia hears and follows your gaze across the room.

 

“That girl who’s all over Lexa? Dunno. Want me to kill her?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Copy. Just say the word.”

 

“I’m going crazy Octavia. Really. I feel like I’m going insane.”

 

“You’re not the only one. I feel kind of bad for her, the way Lexa keeps looking at you.”

 

You are about to ask for clarification but your mind abruptly goes blank as you watch the girl you’ve been staring daggers at all night lean in. When Lexa doesn’t move away your stomach flips, and as she starts to kiss her back you feel suddenly sick, like the floor is moving in waves beneath you. You feel Octavia grab your arm, trying to pull you away as Lexa continues to kiss this girl who isn’t you.

 

“Clarke…Clarke, come on, let’s go…”

 

But you can’t. You can’t look away, one thought echoing over and over again in your head. _You’re too late. You’re too late. You’re too late._

 

After several agonizing seconds the girl finally pulls away and your heart sinks when you see Lexa smile.

 

That smile. It hits you then. That no one will ever appreciate her smile, her _feelings,_ the way that you would. The girl leans in to whisper something in her ear but you don’t care what it might be because now Lexa is walking away, and you know that this could be your last chance.

 

“I’m going to do it Octavia.”

 

“Yes! Do it! Wait…what?”

 

“I need you to run interference.” You are already moving, dragging a confused Octavia behind you. You watch as Lexa slips into the bathroom and then turn Octavia towards that girl you inexplicably hate, who is now making a slow, clumsy attempt towards the destination you know is only meant for you.

 

“Don’t let her get closer to Lexa than this,” you command. Octavia nods solemnly, and you remind yourself to thank her for her unquestioning dedication later.

 

“You get her Clarke,” she slurs, “I got this bitch.”

 

You make a beeline for the bathroom, not allowing yourself to consider the consequences of your actions because the only thing you know now is that you need to tell her how you feel, need to _show_ her how you feel, and you can’t believe that it’s taken you this long to realize how much you love her.

 

You knock on the door and shove your way inside the minute you see her open it. She says something but you don’t hear it because you are pushing her against the wall and then you are kissing her, hard and fast like you’ve been dreaming of doing for months and when she groans softly against your mouth you press harder, wanting to erase all memory of that other girl’s kiss from her lips.

 

“Clarke…” she pants, and when she manages to pull away you find yourself leaning forward, wanting more. More of Lexa, more of her lips, more, more, more.

 

“Clarke, wait.”

 

She’s skeptical, and you don’t blame her given your history but you won’t let yourself lose her again so you switch tactics, reeling in your almost uncontrollable desire to press a soft kiss against her mouth. You stumble over your words as you speak, still overwhelmed by her closeness and her kiss, and give her the chance to tell you to leave.

 

She doesn’t say anything and fear begins to creep up your chest because you’re having a hard time reading her and, oh god, what if you’ve been wrong this whole time? Your thumb drops from where it was rubbing against her cheek and you are about to take a step back until you feel her hand grip your waist and then you are spun around, back hitting the wall that Lexa was pressed against only seconds ago.

 

You barely have time to take a breath before she’s kissing you again and you throw yourself into it immediately, pressing as much of your body into her as you can. When she grinds down against your thigh you nearly lose it and hook your fingers through the belt loops on her jeans, knocking your hips together with an impatient groan.

 

It seems like an eternity passes before you finally feel her fingers inside of you, slowly at first but then faster with your encouragement. She whispers in your ear and a jolt shoots through your already over sensitized body. You manage to speak only for a moment before she presses her thumb to your clit and you are barely able to hold back your moan because everything just feels _so good_ , and then she moves in to kiss you at the same time you do and it’s with this thought, that _Lexa_ is the one kissing you, _Lexa_ is the one fucking you into oblivion, that you are finally able to let yourself go.

 

She rides it out with you, slowing her movement as you come down, and when she pulls her fingers out you slump back against the wall, chest heaving and skin tingling everywhere. She leans against you, pushing her nose underneath your jaw and you wrap your arms around her, holding her as close as you can. You feel her press a soft kiss to your neck and then she pulls back, but only enough to look you in the eye.

 

“I’m in love with you Clarke,” she breathes, making sure to clarify, and your heart does a sort of happy skip in your chest. You say it back and kiss her again and again, because now that you can you don’t ever want to stop.

 

*

 

You wake up the next morning with a pounding headache and your phone vibrating relentlessly on your nightstand. You reach out clumsily, knocking over two large somethings before you find it and answer without looking.

 

“Hello?” you answer groggily, wincing at the sound of your raw voice.

 

“It’s about time. I’ve been standing outside your door for the last 20 minutes.”

 

You smile at her voice and move to get up, groaning when you feel your headache rattle along behind you.

 

“Clarke? Are you alright?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine just…” You pause, hopping on one foot as you pull on a pair of shorts. “Cheap alcohol, you know?”

 

She hums in agreement and then, after a few moments of listening to you breathe heavily while you try to put on your bra with one hand, “Would you hurry the fuck up? Our food is getting cold.”

 

“Food?” you ask, perking up.

 

You hear her laugh under her breath as you shuffle towards the apartment door and when you yank it open you have to take a step back because you feel (and probably look) like a complete mess but she’s there leaning against the doorframe, a tray with two coffees in one hand and a bag of food in the other, looking perfect and just so… _Lexa_.

 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” she deadpans, giving you an obvious once over and you move aside, hitting her lightly on the shoulder as she walks by.

 

“I’d call you an asshole but you brought me food, so I’ll settle with offended silence.”

 

You tear open the bag, making a satisfied moan when you see greasy hash browns and toast inside.

 

“I appreciate your silence,” she says sarcastically, watching you with a small smile as she sips her coffee.

 

“You remembered my hangover food.”

 

“Of course I did, it’s disgusting.” She tears off a piece of your toast, but eyes the hash browns warily. You can’t help but grin at the situation, the familiar routine you instantly slip back into with her, even after so long, making you feel giddy and comfortable and safe.

 

Like nothing has changed. You wonder (not for the first time since last night) what it was you were so afraid of.

 

“Seriously though, thank you. You didn’t have to bring me breakfast.”

 

She shrugs, but you notice even she is having a hard time keeping a smile off her face. It makes your butterflies dance a little inside.

 

“Clarke, I fingered you in some random person’s bathroom last night. There was no way I _wasn’t_ going to bring you breakfast in the morning. Give me more credit than that.”

 

You feel your butterflies start to move a little faster and you take a messy bite of your hash browns, raising your eyebrows in a half-hearted attempt to be sexy. “Mmm. Say fingered again.”

 

She chokes a little on her coffee and you giggle at the blush on her cheeks.

 

“So, uh…” she clears her throat, eyes darting down to follow your tongue as you lick at the toast crumbs stuck to the corner of your mouth. “…About last night…”

 

Last night.

 

After your time in the bathroom you had grabbed Lexa, stole a bottle of vodka from the party and snuck away, ending up back on your nearly deserted campus. Ever since you moved into an apartment nearby you had missed spending all your time there, mostly because everywhere you went reminded you of a memory with Lexa. You used to wander around with her late at night, exploring the old and empty buildings in the back parts of campus that they left unlocked, giggling and making stupid jokes but unknowingly falling more in love with her every time she gave you a long hug goodbye before you went back to your separate dorms.

 

But there was one spot that had always been your favorite, and it’s where you are leading Lexa now, holding hands and giggling as you take turns drinking from your stolen bottle. You like it because it’s in a secluded corner of campus, overlooking the streetlights on the bluff below you and giving you the clearest view of the stars you could hope for in the middle of a bustling city.

 

You drink and kiss and kiss some more (because you still didn’t want to stop) until Lexa’s phone tells you that it is close to five in the morning. You are perfectly fine with staying just like you are, forehead pressed to Lexa’s and her hand down the front of your pants while your body rests half on top of her, grinding down against her fingers and stomach when you want more, but she is starting to shiver and you notice that underneath all this heat rolling across your skin that you are too.

 

She walks you home and when she leans in to say goodbye you kiss her for a long while, but this time you are gentle and she is so reverent and you want desperately to pull her inside with you but you don’t want to make her uncomfortable. So instead you break the kiss with a light squeeze on her shoulder, and fondly watch her walk down the hallway.

 

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you definitely remember waking up to that headache.

 

“What about last night?” you ask.

 

“You…remember everything?”

 

You realize that she’s worried this might have been just another one of your drunken hookups and you drop your hash browns, stepping towards her until you are in her space and then kissing her thoroughly on the mouth, only pulling away when you feel her quiet groan against you.

 

“I remember you telling me that you love me,” you say. You push a piece of hair behind her ear and then kiss her on the nose, heart swelling when she pretends to wince at it. “And I still want you to know that I love you.”

 

Lexa nods, biting her lip as she tries not to smile. “Me too,” she says quietly, and then, still in a voice barely above a whisper, “You taste like burnt grease.”

 

You laugh and then make a point to kiss her again, this time messy and with more tongue, chuckling against her mouth when she eagerly reciprocates.

 

“I want to take you on a date,” you say once you manage to dodge her lips long enough to speak. This stalls her attempts and she pulls back to look at you, eyebrows raised.

 

“Really? Why?”

 

“Why?” you ask incredulously. “Because I want to…I don’t know—court you or whatever.”

 

“Or whatever?” she smirks.

 

You realize she is teasing you and you roll your eyes, turning away to resume your assault on the hash browns. “I’m trying to be romantic here.”

 

She smiles and then moves behind you, resting her chin on your shoulder as she steals another piece of your toast.

 

“Okay. When?”

 

“Tonight? I can make dinner for you.”

 

You don’t care if it seems too eager because really, you have both wasted enough time as it is. She seems to agree because she nods almost immediately, turning to press a wet kiss to your cheek.

 

“In that case, I should go.”

 

“What?” you say, spinning around in place when she moves towards the door. “Why?”

 

“I have to build the suspense,” she answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

 

“Do I at least get a goodbye kiss then?”

 

“Hmm…” she taps her finger against her chin, like she’s pretending to consider, and you think you might just melt at how adorable she’s being.

 

“No, I don’t think so. You already got my fingers—“ She pauses to hold up her hands, wiggling them and her eyebrows suggestively. “—twice last night, Griffin. I need to keep at least some of these resources limited.”

 

You snort through your mouthful of hash browns and you can hear her laughing as she walks down the hallway.

 

*

 

When you get ready for your date that night, you are determined to court Lexa right. Or at least, as a poor college student, the best that you can.

 

You ask Octavia for the apartment that night, and after several minutes of teasing and ‘ _I told you so_ ’s, she agrees to spend the night at her boyfriend’s. You cook the only thing you know how to cook well (spaghetti), set out two glasses and a bottle of wine on the counter and put candles on the table and enough around the room so you don’t need to put on the ugly fluorescents of the apartment. It only crosses your mind later, as you give the living room a final sweep, that it might be a bit dangerous, but the atmosphere it creates is good enough that you figure the risk is worth it.

 

You are just finishing putting on your eyeliner when you hear a knock at the door and your heart immediately quickens a few beats. You walk to the entryway, tugging nervously at the hem of your dress when you notice that it has started to rain outside.

 

You open the door, and of course all your plans for the perfect evening go flying right out the window.

 

Because Lexa is drenched, all the way through her white shirt and her tight black pants. She is holding her leather jacket above her head but the tips of her long hair are still dripping with water and when she sees you she gives you an embarrassed smile.

 

“I did not think it would rain,” she says sheepishly. “I was wrong.”

 

You breathe out a laugh and then pull her inside, and it isn’t long before you are as wet as she is (both because of how her rain-soaked body is pressing yours up against the closed door and because of what she is now doing to you with her mouth). You quickly decide you don’t mind at all when she shifts to kneel down in front of you, and care even less when you end up burning the garlic bread because of it.

 

It isn’t until a couple of hours later when you are sitting next to her on the couch- you in your pajamas and Lexa in her underwear and one of your old hoodies, a bowl of cold spaghetti in each of your hands- that you think this night might have turned out even better than you had planned.

 

When you feel yourself drifting to sleep on top of her, legs and arms tangled together and some TV show running in the background, you know that it has.

 

*

 

You are surprised at how easy it is, making the transition from best friends to girlfriends. The only thing you notice that is different is how frustrating it is to be away from her now.

 

Much to your dismay, when school starts the next week you realize that you have completely opposite schedules, all of your classes in the morning and afternoon while Lexa’s go late into the night. As a result you usually are only able to meet her for breakfast and dinner during the week, and although you wish you could see her more a part of you likes that your routine with her goes back to feeling the way it used to, before those long months when you stopped speaking.

 

Except for the fact that now you are allowed to hold hands with her when she walks you to your first class, and you are allowed to kiss her long and lazily behind the dining hall before she leaves for hers. You let your kisses goodbye get more desperate and pulling as the week goes on (because now that you’ve felt her inside you, you really, _really_ want to again), and by the time Thursday rolls around you are practically groping her against the wall before she stops you, a promise of rocking your world the following night giving you the strength to reluctantly pull away.

 

You learn things about Lexa that you had thought you’d never get the chance to. You learn that she likes to be the aggressor, preferring to work you up to orgasm rather than the other way around. You learn that she shows equal enthusiasm in shoving her hand down your pants and kissing her way slowly, teasingly down the length of your body, making sure to drag her fingers across every part of you she can before she gets to where you want her.

 

And when she finally gets comfortable enough to let you take the lead, you learn that she _also_ really likes to be the one that gets her hands pinned to the bed, the one that ends up completely naked while you are still fully clothed because you were just so intent on getting her underneath you, squirming and clenching the bed sheets as you lick up and down against her clit. Because you also learned that she can only come with your tongue and the squeeze of your fingers on her thigh. The way she sounds, all breathy exhales and quiet groans, makes you shiver against her and she always growls low in her throat when she finds how wet your underwear is because of it.

 

You learn how protective she is of you, whether it be in the arm looped around your waist as you walk down a dark street on your way back to her apartment, or in the way she steps slightly in front of you when she catches a group of boys ogling the two of you after you kissed her outside of class one afternoon. You learn that she loves to be lazy and lay in bed with you on Sunday mornings, head propped up on her elbow and fingers absentmindedly twirling in your hair. She likes to stare, and the focused way in which she looks at you makes you bury your face into your pillow, blushing even more when she leans forward with a kiss to your cheek and a whisper of “ _you’re so beautiful_ ” in your ear.

 

But mostly, you learn that all those years of pain and longing were worth it because with Lexa, you never have to do anything just because you think it’s what you’re supposed to do. You do it because you want to, and because you trust her, and when you are lying in bed with her the night before graduation you ask her to move in with you. When she opens her eyes for a split second, shrugs out a “ _yeah I guess_ ” and then pulls you right up against her, her giggles tickling your ear, you know that the choice you made was finally the right one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it for this story! Thanks for your patience on this one, I hoped you liked it!
> 
> I am now going to attempt to make the slow mental trek back to updating Seconds, so if you want to read the first 9 chapters, check it out [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4528263/chapters/10303482)
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! Or come say hi on tumblr at gamewriter47!

**Author's Note:**

> Any thoughts/feelings/comments would be immensely appreciated! I've been somewhat dissatisfied with my writing lately (I rewrote that last bit five times >.> ) so your feedback will greatly help me get back on track.
> 
> Part 2 is going to be Clarke's POV, revisting some of the events in this chapter and going a bit into the future.
> 
> In the meantime, feel free to check out my other multichapter Clexa fic, which I will go back to updating once this is done!  
> Click to read [Seconds](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4528263/chapters/10303482).


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